


To Bring Me Love

by alby_mangroves



Series: Yuletide Stories [8]
Category: The Mummy (1999), The Mummy Series
Genre: F/M, M/M, Magical Tattoos, Multi, Threesome - F/M/M, Yuletide 2016
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-17
Updated: 2016-12-17
Packaged: 2018-09-09 08:39:38
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,926
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8884246
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/alby_mangroves/pseuds/alby_mangroves
Summary: The campfires were bright enough to rival the moon and stars. News had preceded their arrival and it seemed that every man, woman and child of the desert tribes had come together to celebrate the vanquishing of the beast. The Medjai camp was alive, teeming with horses and men. There would be a great feast.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Sildominarin](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sildominarin/gifts).



> Thank you to MJ for the beta ♥

 

☽  ☆  ☼

 

Dust had not yet re-settled on the ruins of Hamunaptra but already they were going their separate ways, never to see one another again.

Ardeth watched from the shadow of a fallen plinth as O’Connell and the Carnahans readied their mounts, afternoon sunlight playing in their hair, glinting off metal fittings.

The Medjai never forgot; to remember was their way of life. Sooner or later, it would be known that these three foreigners had meddled and caused the Creature to rise even if they had helped to vanquish him later. Ardeth ought to urge the Carnahans and O'Connell to put behind them all they had seen, to leave and never return, before the elders decided that it was too dangerous to let them go.

One week ago he would have thought it necessary for them to die rather than risk exposing the secrets of Hamunaptra—and the blight which was buried beneath it—but now, well. Now they had a common purpose. Now they’d shared a fire; had broken bread together and fought together, side by side. He did not want to let them go just like that, like they were done with each other, the battle won.

They were facing away from him, a weary set to their shoulders, weighed down with the travel still to come.

O’Connell’s leather holster sat tight over his back and his hair was caked with dirt. The man had matured since their last encounter after the Tuareg battle. Where before there had been a mercenary with a thirst for adventure, now there was a warrior. A leader with real conviction. It sat well on his shoulders. They were good shoulders, strong.

Evelyn’s black robe, buffed grey with desert sands, cracked in the breeze like a flag. Thick curls tumbled over her shoulder and she looked small beside O’Connell, kohl-stained, willowy softness next to his bulk; it was an illusion as so many things were in the desert. There was nothing small about her.

Ardeth’s heart smiled upon them both.

He emerged from the shadows and rode towards their little party, meaning to set them on their path home.

"I don't want to go," Evelyn said, and looked at O'Connell, ignoring the hand he'd reached out to assist her into the saddle.

"Come on, old girl," Carnahan groused, already perched on one of the camels, "It's a bumpy ride but we can't walk back, not even you are stubborn enough for that."

"No, Jonathan," Evelyn said, somehow sounding fond and exasperated at the same time. "It’s not the camels, I don't want to leave at all. I want to stay," and then, with a sweeping glance out over the gleaming desert, "I'm not ready to simply go home and— to disappear behind a stack of papers and books. Not just yet. As much as I love my work, and you know I do!” She was imploring now, pleading with them to understand. “I’m not finished, I want to, I—"

Ardeth saw the very moment O'Connell grasped something she’d been trying to work around to. A certain softness smoothed the lines of his face, and he reached for her, fingers tracing lightly over her elbow. Her skin was pale in the grip of O’Connell’s tan hand.

"This is your home too, isn’t it. Egypt? Because of your mother," he said quietly, and Ardeth hadn't known that, hadn't thought to look for anything other than what Evelyn presented on the surface, but maybe it was in the eyes. Yes, the eyes had it - like the Nile; fathomless. Evelyn nodded, pleased, curls bouncing about her face.

“What about my mother?” Carnahan chimed in.

“She was the same mother!” O’Connell said, and Evelyn clicked her tongue.

"Oh, for goodness’ sake." She caught her brother's eyes, then Ardeth's. "Yes. _Our_ mother was Egyptian," she said, and Ardeth's mouth curled in a smile.

“Stay, then,” he said, looking among them all. “Please, my friends. Before we take leave of each other, before you must return to your lives, let us take a moment to celebrate."

Evelyn wasted no more time before getting into the saddle. “Well, I don’t know about my brother or Mr O’Connell, but that sounds like a perfect way to commemorate not dying horribly.” She said, pulling around the reins of her mount, and leaving Cairo at her back.

Ardeth looked up and locked eyes with O’Connell. A grin was playing at the corner of his wide mouth, distracting enough that he didn’t mind Carnahan’s whining.

 

☽  ☆  ☼

 

They rode into nightfall and their camels knew before they did—felt the nearness of home and water as always when returning to familiar lands—and picked up their pace. O’Connell whooped, shooting Ardeth a wide grin, and Ardeth bit down on a smile, his heartbeat picking up pace, too. Madness. This was madness.

The camels sped on without any prompting until they were nearly galloping, swallowing up the desert with their great strides. The Carnahans barely held on, unused to hard riding, exhausted, but there was a determination in them to match pace, to ride on until a soft, distant glow could be seen on the horizon.

Soon enough, the noise of a great many people gathered together began to drift around them: disembodied shouts and sudden echoes of laughter set to the undertow of drums and the pitchy warbling of the mizmars, the sounds all drifting together into a rich hum Ardeth could feel in every breath he pulled into his lungs.

As they neared the campsite, it settled all the way down to his bones, the familiar embrace of home, capturing all his sense. Even the scent of food had begun to register; beside him, Carnahan seemed to rally and sniff at the air.

There was an energy to their arrival now, excitement and anticipation among their little party. They finally crested the dunes to find the desert home of the Medjai sprawled below, hundreds of tent peaks limned in orange firelight.

The campfires were bright enough to rival the moon and stars. News had preceded their arrival and it seemed that every man, woman and child of the desert tribes had come together to celebrate the vanquishing of the beast. The Medjai camp was alive, teeming with horses and men. There would be a great feast.

“All of the twelve tribes have come,” Ardeth said, taking pleasure in the silent awe of his friends, kicking his camel on down from the dune to show them the way, “I hope you are hungry!” 

 

 

☽  ☆  ☼

 

They left their camels on the outskirts of camp to be tended to by the tribe’s youth and made their way on foot.

“So many people,” Evelyn said, breathless, eyes hungrily roving through the crowds, the choppy sea of tent peaks, fabric flapping in the breeze. The scents and sounds of his home were not something Ardeth ever thought to question but now he found himself watching keenly for reactions from his friends, drinking in their awe and curiosity.

“It is not usually so,” Ardeth said, “my tribe numbers many but not nearly this many. They have come to celebrate our victory over the creature.”

Evelyn tapped her heel against stone pavers lining the main alley of the campsite and looked up in silent question.

“It is not so unusual for desert dwelling tribes to strike camps on the—”

“—ruins of an ancient city!” Evelyn said, delighted. “Yes, of course, that makes sense, the solid foundations, the natural features of the landscape already utilised,” and then, perking up and wide-eyed, “Oh! I don’t suppose you know the name of the city which stood here? I don’t think I recall seeing anything on the map.”

“My people have always lived here. It was a training ground before it was a city; thousands were sent here to learn to fight. The Medjai were the Pharaoh’s personal guard, after all, and only the best were selected.” He looked around at the people he’d known his whole life, who knew what was at stake just like he thought he did until faced with the reality, the sheer horror of Imhotep. “You must understand that in essence, we are a peaceful people. We train in the ways of the Medjai, this is true, and will always remain true for we are ever vigilant and our responsibility does not end with one lifetime, it continues through the virtue of our bloodline. We are charged with a sacred duty, but…” Ardeth sighed, shook his head. “In truth, none of us thought to see the creature’s return in our lifetime - he has slept for thousands of years while we kept our vigil."

"And here we came along and woke him up," Evelyn said, and took Ardeth’s hand and held it, twining their fingers together, stopping his breath at the gentleness of her touch. "I am sorry."

O'Connell looked between them, then he, too, took up their hands so that they were clasped between both of his, rubbing his thumb over Ardeth’s knuckles.

" _We_ are sorry," he said, earnest, both of them honey gold and soft in the firelight, and Ardeth could not be imagining this, not outside the heat of battle, not here where they were safe and surrounded by friends, O’Connell and Evelyn both looking at him, and at each other, with such openness. He was sure the same wonder was plain on his own face.

Ardeth smiled at them both, blue eyes and hazel crinkling right back at him. "It does not matter. All has ended well."

“Well, I’m not sorry,” Carnahan said, oblivious to the tension between the three beside him, “look at this party! I wouldn't miss this for the world!" And he was off to find trouble in the crowd, and they were looking at a wave of people coming straight for them, jubilant shouting and happy faces, and Ardeth yelled too, caught up in the joy.

"What are they saying?" O'Connell's face was a picture of amazement.

His brethren were suddenly all around him, surrounding him, lifting him onto their shoulders and bearing him away into the throng. O'Connell and Evelyn joined in the yelling and clapping and took it all in, letting the celebration take them up, too, laughing fit to burst.

"They are saying we are heroes! They are saying we are Medjai," Ardeth said, face aching from smiling, laughing at O'Connell's and Evelyn's faces when they were lifted above the crowd, too.

"My brothers!" Ardeth shouted to be heard over the immense noise, sweeping his arms out over the joyous people.

"What, all of them?" O'Connell shouted back, and Ardeth laughed until he thought he'd be carried up into the sky, a happy cloud, weightless.

 

☽  ☆  ☼

 

They were borne on the shoulders of Ardeth’s brethren and taken to the base of The Gate of God’s Teeth, a rocky, ragged cliff-face, lining the ancient city on its southernmost side. Over the course of millennia, the inhabitants of the city had carved grottos and caves into the sandstone and tonight they were aglow from within, ethereal, lit by hundreds of torches, fragrant incense dispersing in the breeze. Ardeth looked at the haunting, heart stopping splendour of it with new eyes, seeing it as Evelyn and O'Connell might, for the very first time.

He hadn't thought to tell them what came next; he’d taken it for granted, and now there was no time to explain. Already, some of the Medjai who had fought at Hamunaptra had been brought before the elders and were being lowered from their brothers’ shoulders to the sands at the mouth of the Medjai priests’ cave. Chanting made the air thrum and Ardeth’s blood sang in his veins. He felt unsteady, drunk on vitality, on _life_. They had made it. They had _made it._

A hand grasped his shoulder. He looked to the left and there was O’Connell standing beside him, bruised and dirtied all over and still not a dent in the grin which made Ardeth’s belly tighten. A moment later, Evelyn—hair wild and eyes huge, thirsty for every scrap of knowledge, every new experience—had been set down at his right and Ardeth offered her his hand, wanting to touch her and connect with her, breath catching in his chest at the depth of his fondness for her. Firelight danced across their faces and Ardeth could feel the magic of the ritual already bubbling up within him, singing inside him.

“What’s happening?” O’Connell shouted, but the noise around them rose until Ardeth could barely think, and then there was no need to answer because the ritual had begun and they were all in it together, feeling it raise them up.

One by one, the warriors who had defended Hamunaptra stepped up to receive their blessing, shrugging out of their clothing to expose their torsos to the warm night air.

They came to stand before wise Senen-Ptah, who had been ancient already when Ardeth was but a small child still in swaddling cloths, and who was now as gnarled and brittle with age as the fossilised tree stumps standing sentinel at the outskirts of the Sahara. It was Senen-Ptah who called forth the sacred mark and who spun it from the same ancient magic which helped to bind Imhotep millennia ago.

Every man, woman and child of the twelve Medjai tribes who saw the mark would know the bearer as One Who Protects.

They each recited the required words, and when Senen-Ptah came to face him, Ardeth’s heartbeat drummed thickly through his veins as he said the words, too. He loosened his black robes, peeling them from his sweaty shoulders, the light desert breeze raising gooseflesh, Evelyn’s small, _“Oh,”_ barely heard over the cacophony.

He took his place on his knees in front of the elders and looked up at the endless sky as Senen-Ptah brought his staff down to touch him, laying the dull, carved tip of it to the flesh of Ardeth’s breast and, incanting, calling forth the sacred mark. Ardeth bit the inside of his cheek. His chest ached with the mark’s righteous burn. When it was done he looked down to see a series of small, reddened sigils branded on his skin. In time, they would blacken and sink deep into his flesh, just like those on his face.

When Ardeth stumbled back to his feet, O’Connell had come forward and was dropping to his knees in the sand. Ardeth’s brows drew together.

“My friend, you do not have to do this,” he said, and he would not have thought less of the man had he never put himself forth like this—but oh, gods, how Ardeth’s heart pounded to think of O’Connell as a true shield-brother. O’Connell continued pulling at his clothing, sliding the thick suspenders from his shoulders until he could unbutton and pull apart the wings of his shirt and kneel bare-chested under sky and stars, awaiting his Medjai mark.

His mouth had pulled up in that grin Ardeth had gotten to know meant O’Connell was daring the sky to fall on him, daring the earth to open up and take him. His cheeks were dimpled with it and his hands had curled into determined fists. “Tell me what to say.”

Ardeth shook his head and caught his smile between his teeth. He kneeled beside him, leaned in close so he could be heard over the noise and spoke slowly, his mouth skimming soft hair that fell over O’Connell’s ear. He sat back on his heels and listened as O’Connell repeated them to Senen-Ptah in his serviceable—if strangely accented—Egyptian. Senen-Ptah eyed O’Connell searchingly, and time seemed to slow while the old priest deliberated upon the offering to serve the Medjai, from an American, an outsider.

“He is worthy, Old One. He fought bravely against the creature,” Ardeth said, but Senen-Ptah was still as stone.

Finally, he put the tip of his staff to the leather vambrace at O’Connell’s wrist. He looked O’Connell in the eye, but when he spoke, his words were directed at Ardeth.

“This one has already been touched by the Medjai.”

Evelyn gasped. Ardeth’s brows drew together, and he looked down at O’Connell, kneeling beside him, confused, his hand curled over the wrist cuff where the staff had touched him.

“What did he say?”

“That you are already one of them,” Evelyn said, and Ardeth’s heart thudded up into his throat. “O’Connell, take off your cuff.”

“It’s Rick, to my friends,” he said, and though his body didn’t show it, Ardeth sensed a shift in tension.

“Rick,” Ardeth repeated softly. “Please. Your cuff.”

After a moment, Rick picked open the tie holding it together and let the cuff fall from his wrist. Ardeth swallowed dryly. The Medjai assembled nearby went quiet and watchful.

“I'm a stranger travelling from the east,” Ardeth said, locking eyes with Rick, “seeking that which is lost.”

“I am a stranger travelling from the west. It is I whom you seek,” Rick replied in an unsteady voice, and Ardeth had not realised just how quiet it had gotten until the shouting erupted around them.

“I don’t really know what that means,” Rick said, casting stunned eyes over the masses of excited people. “I was given this a long time ago, I had no idea it meant something here.” And then, “Wait, what _does_ it mean?”

Ardeth laughed, full stunned delight despite the confusion written on Rick’s face. “It is one thing for the tribe to welcome you for a night of well-earned celebrations. It is another for the tribe to welcome you home.”

Rick shook his head. He did not understand and Ardeth could only wonder at how he had come by a sacred mark and not know its import, but there was no time now, and when finally Senen-Ptah raised the staff, Rick accepted it with grace, allowing the ceremony to proceed.

His head fell back, corded throat working and sweat glistening in the dip between his clavicles as the marks were written on his body. Evelyn came to Ardeth and twisted their fingers together, and he did not have to look at her to know she was thinking the same thoughts, coveting the same sun-bronzed land. Ardeth’s grip on her hand tightened for a moment to think it, to think of the two of them, or— _Gods,_ the three of them. Ardeth drew in a sharp breath.

Rick turned to go to them, his marks fresh and pink on the meat of his chest and there was a smile waiting for them at the corner of his mouth when the old priest raised his staff to Evelyn, letting it rest in the center of her chest, right between the straps of her black dress. He was studying her with his ancient, milky eyes.

“Your _ka_ will be returned to you,” he said. “You do not yet remember, but you will.”

“I am sorry,” Evelyn said, uneasy laughter ringing out, “there must have been a misunderstanding, as I am certainly not Medjai.”

“No, you are something different, even if you are also sworn to protect. In here.” His brittle fingers replaced the staff, and he tapped gently over her heart. “You are already sworn. You have only forgotten because you are not yet ready, but she will return to you, in time.”

Evelyn was silent, stunned surprise from her arched brows to her dropped chin.

The priest moved on, and something passed between the three of them, then, something sweet and hot and too dark to name. They were connected. This was no accident; they were _connected_ , and all bore a mark of one kind or another and had been drawn together in this place and in this moment. Ardeth smiled at his shield-brother and shield-sister and took their hands in his.

 

☽  ☆  ☼

 

They ate and drank and laughed along with the crowds, weaving their way through the encampment to Ardeth’s own tent; humble and utilitarian as it was, still it provided some relief from the noise and the crowds. They were still holding hands.

He didn’t know who touched whom first but he was caught between their bodies, Evelyn’s soft hair tickling at his shoulder and Rick’s nose skimming along his cheek, and then they were kissing, the burn of stubble heavenly on Ardeth’s face and Rick’s hard body pressed to his from chest to belly to thighs, the drums thumping outside and Ardeth’s blood rushing past his ears.

When they broke apart, Evelyn was staring between them with huge, dark eyes. Rick reached for her with one arm, and then the three of them were embracing, arms wrapped around each other, and kissing, taking turns with each other. Ardeth watched Evelyn nip at Rick’s full mouth and he bent to bury his face in her rich hair, groaning, pressing himself into her warmth and setting his mouth to her pale throat.

Rick’s hand was in his hair, and Ardeth came away from Evelyn’s throat to meet his mouth, both of them breathless with it, hungry for it, kisses drowning deep. Rick moaned and kissed his mouth from corner to corner and with a final teasing lick he let up, held Ardeth close with their foreheads touching, eyes cutting to Evelyn standing between them and holding them both tight.

“You’re very calm about this,” Rick said in that way of his, that testing, incredulous way.

Ardeth could not help but smile at the look she gave them both. “I have read The Iliad, you know,” she said, and her eyes dropped to Rick’s pink mouth, just before she pulled him down to meet her lips. Ardeth’s whole body thrummed with arousal; they were so beautiful, he thought, he loved them both so much, and then there was no more time for thinking, for they were sinking to the bedding, all three wrapped up in each other.

 

☽  ☆  ☼

 

Dawn found Ardeth sitting by a fire with his brothers, the light casting orange on all their faces. He had woken a little before the rising of the sun; the ways of a soldier were ingrained too deeply to break.

Rick had woken, too, but Ardeth subdued him with kisses and covered his body with his own. He’d caressed him with gentle touches until they were both panting, then gasping, then spilling between their bellies. Finding Evie awake and watching with her lip between her teeth, they attended to her too, Ardeth taking her mouth, her breasts, Rick—Ardeth’s hand in his hair, gently cupping the back of his warm neck—giving Evie his mouth and his fingers until she, too, writhed in pleasure.

He had left them sleeping, curled into each other, and it was right and good that it should be like this, for they would have each other upon their return to their world, and Ardeth, who was a Medjai and a leader of men with the concerns of an entire tribe upon his shoulders, would have this memory to sustain him until the next time they met.

Beside him, Asim stirred the fire. The water was near boiling and Ardeth would make strong, sweet tea to take back to his tent.

“What about this one?” Asim said, tipping his chin to where Carnahan lay snoring among the camels with his arm thrown around the neck of one. He was missing a boot, but had instead acquired a sheer blue veil, stuck fetchingly to his face with drool.

Ardeth smiled, eyeing the glint of gold in a saddlebag lying nearby. “Leave him. I have a feeling he’ll forget the indignity soon enough.”

 

☽  ☆  ☼

 


End file.
